Madeleine came of a brave race and she was a woman of intense pride.
She spent a week at Congress Springs and she took her courage in her
teeth and spent another at Rincona. There was a house party and they
amused themselves in the somnolent way peculiar to Alta. Bret Harte
was there, a dapper little man, whose shoes were always a size too
small, but popular with women as he played an excellent game of
croquet and talked as delightfully as he wrote. His good humor could
be counted on if no one mentioned "The Heathen Chinee." He had always
admired Madeleine and did his best to divert her.

Both Mrs. McLane and Mrs. Abbott were disappointed that they were
given no opportunity to condole with her; but although she gave a
fair imitation of the old Madeleine Talbot, and even mentioned
Masters' name with a casual indifference, no one was deceived for a
moment. That her nerves were on the rack was as evident as that her
watchful pride was in arms, and although it was obvious that she had
foresworn the luxury of tears, her eyes had a curious habit of
looking through and beyond these good ladies until they had the
uncomfortable sensation that they were not there and some one else
was. They wondered if Langdon Masters were dead and she saw his ghost.

The summer was almost over. After a visit to Sally Abbott on Lake
Merritt, she returned to town with the rest of the fashionable world.
People had never been kinder to her; and if their persistent
attentions were strongly diluted with curiosity, who shall blame
them? It was not every day they had a blighted heroine of romance,
who, moreover, looked as if she were going into a decline. She grew
thinner every day. Her white skin was colorless and transparent. They
might not have her for long, poor darling! How they pitied her! But
they never wished they had let her alone. It was all for the best.
And what woman ever had so devoted a husband? He went with her
everywhere. He, too, looked as if he had been through the mill, poor
dear, but at least he had won a close race, and he deserved and
received the sympathy of his faithful friends. As for that ungrateful
brute, Langdon Masters, he had not written a line to any one in San
Francisco since he left. Not one had an idea what had become of him.
Did he secretly correspond with Madeleine? (They would have permitted
her that much.) Would he blow out his brains if she died of
consumption? He was no philanderer. If he hadn't really loved her
nothing would have torn him from San Francisco and his brilliant
career; of course. Duelling days were over, and the doctor was not
the man to shoot another down in cold blood, with no better excuse
than the poor things had given him. It was all very thrilling and
romantic. Even the girls talked of little else, and regarded their
complacent prosperous swains with disfavor. "The Long Long Weary Day"
was their favorite song. They wished that Madeleine lived in a moated
grange instead of the Occidental Hotel.

Madeleine had had her own room from the beginning of her married
life in San Francisco, as the doctor was frequently called out at
night. When Howard had returned and told her that Masters would leave
on the morrow and that she was not to see him again, she had walked
quietly into her bedroom and locked the door that led to his; and she
had never turned the key since.

Talbot made no protest. He had no spirit left where Madeleine was
concerned, but it was his humble hope to win her back by unceasing
devotion and consideration, aided by time. He not only never
mentioned Masters' name, but he wooed her in blundering male fashion.
Not a day passed that he did not send her flowers. He bought her
trinkets and several valuable jewels, and he presented her with a
victoria, drawn by a fine sorrel mare, and a coachman in livery on
the box.

Madeleine treated him exactly as she treated her host at a dinner.
She was as amiable as ever at the breakfast table, and when he
deserted his club of an evening, she sat at her embroidery frame and
told him the gossip of the day.